


What Keeps the Stars Apart

by MangoMartini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, First Time, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4510245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoMartini/pseuds/MangoMartini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy Weasley attends his brother George's wedding, even though he has doubts as to if he's really wanted there. The night takes a turn from bad to worse to surprisingly better when he runs into his old best friend, Oliver Wood, whom he hasn't spoken to in five years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Keeps the Stars Apart

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first attempt at a longer Percy/Oliver fic, and I'm pretty happy with it. There is a very likely chance that there will be fics set after this one, but for now I want to get this one posted as a one shot.

He was signing the guest book when it happened. 

“Percy Ignatius Weasley!” his mother scolded, grabbing him by the arm of his suit jacket and pulling him away from his unfinished inscription in the book. “You were late to your own brother’s wedding!”

At first Percy couldn’t decided between looking his mother in the face and looking at the ground, but when he saw the expression she had, the same one she had whenever one of them had broken something as a child, he chose the ground. “I saw the ceremony, mother,” Percy replied--explaining, not arguing. “I just sat at the back.”

“But we saved you a seat up at the front, with us.” Mrs. Weasley still had not loosened her grip on his arm. “With your _family_ ,” she added, and Percy only had a moment for the guilt to consume him before Mrs. Weasley pulled him in for a bone-crushing hug. 

Even a year after the battle, after reconciling with his family, things like this still felt odd. Like he was wearing a costume from another life, one that didn’t fit him anymore as much as his mother kept trying to shove him back into it. Of course he came around for Christmas, and last year he had even made it to New Year’s. And he always sent something nice whenever it was anyone’s birthday. But after four years of hardly seeing them, of disowning them, Percy didn't know his family anymore.

“I’m sorry,” Percy said, speaking mostly into the fabric on the shoulder of his mother’s dress. She smelled like she always did, like vanilla and his childhood, a scent as faint as a dream.

She let him go when she seemed thoroughly pleased with the hug. “You had better be,” Mrs. Weasley said, “and not one word about work, do you hear me? No one wants to hear it. We’ve got you sat next to Luna Lovegood. Oh, now don’t give me that face. Hermione and Ginny helped Angelina with the seating arrangements and they think you two might hit it off.” She ran her fingers through her son’s curly red hair, as if that would somehow make the unruly mess more presentable. “You need a woman in your life, Percy. And make sure you compliment Angelina on her dress, since you missed her entrance.”

Percy didn’t get a chance to reply to his mother before she saw someone else she had to talk to and left. As he made his way through the crowd to the refreshments table, Percy seriously considered just fabricating an emergency with work and leaving. Certainly no one would notice if he left early. They might even prefer that. 

It was a lovely affair though, Percy had to admit. Outside on a summer’s evening under the large tent, with a string quartet and endless amounts of appetizers. There would even be enough space for everyone to dance, once dance floor was set up. 

“Hiding out near the punch too, Perce?”

“Huh?” Percy started, nearly spilling his drink. He hadn’t expected to see Charlie here, or for Charlie to be talking to him at all. Charlie looked out of place in the formal clothes, but still had on his favorite boots. Percy wanted to ask how Charlie had snuck that past their mum, but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t feel he had the right to ask. 

Charlie laughed and clapped a hand on Percy’s shoulder. “She’s been playing matchmaker with me since I arrived. Nearly thirty and not yet married,” Charlie mocked in a caricature of their mother’s voice. He shook his head. “But she’s got Bill, George, Ron and Gin settled. She can stand a few of us not married, yeah?”

“Oh, uh, yes. I’m sure,” Percy said, taking a quick gulp of punch. Too big of a gulp, and he found himself coughing. There was something not right with the punch. 

Charlie just laughed again. “It’s spiked, Perce. You should have expected as much at George’s wedding. He did it himself.” 

Percy just nodded. Of course that was something George would do. Percy had memories of all of his siblings, of course. But he had no idea to do with them now. They were all so different from their memories. He filled his cup back up with the spiked punch, said goodbye to his older brother, and walked off. 

This was only the second Weasley wedding, Percy thought, sipping the spiked punch and finding a space near the edge of the tent to stand and watch the crowds. Two more weddings for sure, for Ron and Ginny. Two more times of being scolded for showing up late, surprised by the punch, and having his mother try to set him up with Ginny and Hermione’s friends. Percy took a deep breath. He could deal with the weddings. If anything, they were better than the funerals.

And everyone looked so _happy_. For a while, Percy spent the time sipping his drink and attaching names to faces. His memory had always been spot on like that; he never forgot a name, a face, or anything, really. He also didn’t forget that he didn’t have a friend out there in that crowd of faces, just a family who tolerated him because they were, well, family. That thought kept him away from everyone else, where he felt he needed to stay. 

Finally, there was the announcement for dinner. Percy checked his watch. Still early in the evening, and if this was anything like other family functions, they would be at it until early the next morning, drinking and dancing. And he didn’t even have the excuse of work to leave early--there was no work to be done on Saturday. All he could do now was sit down and try to enjoy dinner. 

Out in the crowd of guests, Percy easily spotted Luna. Her long, light hair was a dead giveaway, along with a long lavender gown and her strange earrings. “Hello Luna,” Percy said, approaching her. “My mother said we were sitting next to each other, but didn’t mention where exactly that was.” He let his voice trail off, hoping Luna would get the hint.

“Percy Weasley,” Luna said, in that voice that always made Percy wonder if she was truly awake or not. “Of course. Ginny has been telling me about you.” She smiled at him, and gestured toward the rows of tables that were now appearing. “We’re this way.”

The lovely thing about Luna, Percy soon found out, was that she could talk. And unlike most people Percy knew at the Ministry who could gossip forever or go on about their horrid children, Luna talked about things like The Quibbler and the Rotfang Conspiracy, whatever that was. It was like white noise, and just as calming. 

“Oh Luna, good, you’ve found him. Mum was worried he’d taken off early.” Ginny grinned, as if she knew how uncomfortable this wedding was making him. In her red gown, she looked almost like a caricature demon. She was leaning over a round table, arranging the centerpiece of purple, gold, and orange feathers that were nearly three feet tall--but next to the white tablecloth and polished silverware, didn’t look that bad. They were the joke shop colors, Percy remembered after a moment. 

“Hello Ginny,” Percy greeted, sitting down quickly at the nearly-empty table. He knew better than to expect any sort of hug from his sister. “You look well.”

Ginny grinned at that and flexed one of her arms. “Getting into shape for Holyhead Harpies tryouts. Mum’s not too happy about it, but Harry thinks--wait, where is Harry?”

Percy gave a small shrug. “I haven’t seen him.” He should have known that Harry Potter would be at their table, if he was sitting next to Ginny and her best friend. 

Luna, who had sat down next to Percy, made a small, airy noise that he quickly realized was her laugh. “Oh, he’s outside with George and some others, talking Quidditch. The World Cup is coming up,” Luna told Percy, nodding sagely. “They’re all terribly excited. It’s between--”

“Australia and Germany,” Ginny finished for her. “But that’s no reason for them to be out there missing dinner. And it’s George’s own wedding,” she added, huffing off in a cloud of red chiffon. 

That just left Luna and Percy alone at the table, with the bustle of others finding their seats swirling around them. At first, Luna didn’t speak. She just looked at Percy like she was studying him. It made him uncomfortable. 

“Look,” Percy said finally, looking around to make sure none of his family was within earshot. “I’m sure you’re very nice, it’s just that--”

“Oh, I know,” Luna interrupted. “But I am very glad you think I’m nice. You’re nice too, I think. Eventually.”

He pursed his lips. “Luna, what exactly do you think you know?” 

But she didn’t get a chance to answer, before Ginny came back, pulling Harry by the hand. George came back in the tent soon after, and hurried to the front to sit next to Angelina. Luna’s father sat on the other side of her, leaving just one empty spot at their table, right across from Percy. 

Empty, at least, until Oliver Wood sat down in it, and Percy immediately regretted his decision to stay for the wedding reception. 

“But that’s what I’m saying, Harry,” Oliver said, in his loud Scottish brogue. “Germany’s got the best Keepers, hands down, but Australia’s Seeker is top notch, which is what really matters. And I swear if you bring up Krum one more time, I’ll stab you with a fork.”

Harry and Oliver went on debating Quidditch, with Ginny chiming in when she could. Like Ginny, Harry looked well, too. Not having your life threatened regularly probably did that to a person, Percy thought. And the way that Ginny looked at Harry, well, that was one wedding Percy would try his best not to be late for, if he was invited. 

If only Oliver Wood wasn’t here. Percy drained the rest of his drink, and then checked his watch again, seriously considering just Apparating away, regardless of how rude that would be. Anything to avoid talking to his old friend.

Luna, who had been having a quiet conversation with her father, turned back Percy just in time to see him check his watch. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Are you late for something?”

“No,” Percy said, putting his watch away. “Just checking how much longer I’ll have to suffer through this lot talking about Quidditch.”

“You don’t like Quidditch?” Luna asked. 

Her voice was not loud, but the question came at a lull in the Quidditch conversation and must have carried, because it was then that Oliver Wood turned around and tried to look through the feather centerpiece to find out, “who doesn’t like Quidditch?” He grabbed the feathers and took them out of the glass vase, setting them down in the middle of the table. 

“Bloody hell, Percy Weasley,” Oliver said, staring at Percy. Not that Percy could blame him. It had been five years since they had seen each other, after spending seven years in the same dorm together. “I thought you liked Quidditch?” Oliver asked, as if he just couldn’t process this new information. 

Percy wished that Oliver had left the feathers up. He hadn’t wanted to see those brown eyes ever again, hadn’t seen them since he left school. Even at the battle and the subsequent funerals, Percy had managed to avoid Oliver Wood--largely by arriving late, leaving early, and staying clear of any conversations about Quidditch. But now here he was, unavoidable and right in front of him. 

“No,” Percy said primly. “I don’t care for Quidditch.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open at that. “How can anyone not like Quidditch? Quidditch is the best game ever, it’s--”

Ginny put her hand on Harry’s arm. “Harry, don’t bother. We’ve been having this argument with him for years. George has a theory that dad dropped him on his head when he was younger.”

“I was not dropped,” Percy protested, a little louder than he meant to. He blamed the punch. “I just don’t see the fascination with something so pointless.”

“But you came to every Gryffindor game,” Oliver argued, as if that was definitive proof that Percy liked the entire sport of Quidditch, and had not just been attending the games to make sure the only part of Quidditch that he _did_ like didn’t get hurt. 

At that moment, the food appeared, and with some coaxing from Ginny and Luna, the conversation changed from Quidditch to weddings. Ginny started talking about how cute two-year-old Teddy had looked as the ring bearer, and when Harry had tried to ask about Quidditch again, Ginny kicked him under the table. The conversation stayed firmly on weddings after that, though Oliver spent the meal looking up at Percy like he was about to say something, before turning his attention back to his dinner. 

After dinner, the tables were cleared away and space was made for dancing, and Percy did his best to put space between himself and Oliver. Angelina and George had their first dance to the string quartet’s cover of a Celestina Warbeck song, and Percy applauded along with everyone else when it was over. They looked impossibly happy as they danced, soft and slow and never looking away from each other. 

For a moment, Percy felt a pang in his chest over the fact that that would never be him out there. But he couldn’t dance at all, he reminded himself. Not that he’d ever had the chance to learn. But there were so many more important things than dancing. 

That was when Luna appeared and asked him to dance. 

“Oh, um,” Percy mumbled, stalling. The dancefloor was already filling up with other couples, mostly those that were half-Weasley. His mother had already dragged his father out, and she was doing her best to not let him step on her feet. A sense of rhythm was not a Weasley trait. “No, thank you. But why don’t you go ask Neville to dance?” Percy asked quickly, when he saw Luna start to frown. 

He pointed toward Neville, who was on the other side of the dance floor and looking at the dancers wistfully, with one toe tapping. If anyone wanted to dance, it was Neville. Luna seemed to agree, and left Percy for Neville. And that was good, Percy thought, the music was good and people should be dancing. 

The sun had set during dinner, and now the levitating lamps cast a warm, yellow glow on the revelers under the tent. Even Charlie was out on the dance floor, though Percy wasn’t sure if swinging Teddy around like that really counted as dancing. 

Luckily, the punch table was right where it had been before dinner. He deserved another drink, Percy thought, to deal with the fact that he had run into Oliver. 

Unluckily, Oliver Wood was already there. Percy looked at Oliver’s back, his broad shoulders accentuated by the formal wear. He should leave. He should leave and go to another corner of the tent so that he didn’t have to talk to Oliver. He could get punch another time. 

But then Oliver poured himself a drink and knocked it back in one go, and all Percy could do was watch. Oliver gasped when he was done, hitting his chest and coughing. 

Percy put a hand up over his mouth to stifle his laugh. He hated his laugh, always had. It sounded more like a snort than a proper laugh, and his brothers had always made fun of him for me. Of course, they then had made fun of him for lacking a sense of humor, but that Percy could deal with. 

Oliver turned around. “Bloody hell,” he cursed, “did you know it was spiked?”

Percy pushed past Oliver to get his own drink. “Do you remember whose wedding you’re at?” he asked, mimicking what Charlie had said to him earlier. “It’s actually not that bad, if you drink it at a civilized pace.” 

Percy moved out of the way so that Oliver could get another glass. “Don’t talk to me about civilized,” Oliver said, pouring more punch into his glass. “You’re the one who doesn’t like Quidditch.”

And maybe it was the punch, or the fact that there was nothing else for him to do except wait for the cake cutting so that he could go home. That was the only reason he was even here, talking with Oliver Wood, when he knew it was such a monumentally bad idea. Percy hadn’t talked to him in five years for a _reason_. But the banter came back so naturally. “I could hardly call smacking balls at people while riding a broom civilized.”

“But you went to the World Cup! How could anyone not like Quidditch after that, not even a little? And you always came to every Gryffindor game at school, I remember.”

Percy winced. Oh, the 1994 Quidditch World Cup, where the Bulgarian team had brought Veela as their pre-game show. The leprechauns had been fun, even whimsical. But the experience of watching every male around him go crazy over the Veela, when he was as unaffected as his little sister? That had been torture. Percy had always thought he was just too busy with work to bother with girls, and that was why his relationship with Penelope had died. 

“I went to those games because I had to,” Percy said, expression stony. “Now that I’m out of school, I don’t have to waste my time with them anymore.”

Oliver’s face was an expression that Percy didn’t know how to read. Names and faces he knew, but what people _did_ with their faces often eluded him. He knew that Oliver didn’t look happy, but anything else was unclear. Percy wondered if, after sharing a dorm with Oliver for seven years, he should be able to read him better. But then again, he hadn’t even been able to read himself back in school. 

Percy was sure that remark was enough to end the conversation. But Oliver’s expression just melted after a moment, from something Percy didn’t understand to something like a smile. 

“You always were a hard worker, even in our first year,” Oliver said finally. “Remember when I couldn’t get that levitation spell, so you levitated my broom up and kept it there until I was able to get it down myself?”

“Only because you had snuck a broom to school in your first year and tried to ride it around the common room. You’re lucky I didn’t report you to McGonagall.”

Oliver laughed, deep and throaty, and god how Percy had missed that sound. Oliver laughed at anything, he even laughed at Percy, where Percy wasn’t sure he had a sense of humor half the time. Every time Oliver laughed, his eyes would close slightly, and he’d throw his head back. Even after all these years, Percy remembered that laugh. 

“You wouldn’t have,” Oliver replied when he was done laughing. “You liked me too much.”

Percy kept his mouth shut. There was no way Oliver could know just how true that statement was.

They moved away from the punch table, and Oliver nodded out to the crowd of dancers. “I think Neville stole your date,” he said, chuckling some more. But he was right. 

Luna was dancing with Neville, just the way that Percy had suggested. Luna had a huge grin on her face, and Neville had his face scrunched up, like he was concentrating too hard. But they were dancing close together, fingers interlaced, and yes it did seem like Luna was now spoken for, at least for tonight. 

“She was never my date,” Percy corrected, eyes not leaving the dance floor. Bill and Fleur were elegantly twirling in the middle of the floor. Off to one side, Hermione was teaching Ron how to waltz. Ginny and Harry seemed to be in a game where they danced over to other couples and tried to knock them over with their hips. George and Angelina were also playing. “Mum thought we might get along and had us sit next to each other.”

“So she’s not your type, then?” Oliver asked after a moment, as if it were something terribly important. 

Percy looked back at Oliver, whose punch glass was empty again. He resisted taking a sip from his own; he was already feeling light headed. “No. Luna is a very nice girl. But for one thing she’s much too young, and too…” Percy couldn’t think of a way to say what he meant: _too much not you_

“Too Luna?” Oliver suggested, and Percy nodded in agreement. “Ginny’s told me a lot about her. We’ve been meeting up for training--me and Ginny, I mean. She’s an exceptional Chaser. I’m not going to like having to block her shots.”

“I’m not talking about Quidditch,” Percy snapped. He shouldn’t even be talking to Oliver at all. 

“Aw, come on,” Oliver pleaded. “You always let me ramble on about Quidditch when we were in school. I never even knew you didn’t like it.” 

It was true. Percy always let Oliver talk about whatever he wanted--usually Quidditch--during meals or in the morning or whenever else they had free time together. None of it stuck in Percy’s mind, none of it except the look on Oliver’s face when he was explaining something he was particularly excited about. Percy didn’t like Quidditch, but he loved that. 

“There’s a lot you didn’t know,” Percy muttered quietly. 

Oliver asked what he had said, but before Percy had to scramble for an explanation, his mother was announcing the cake cutting. They joined the rest of the crowd and watched as Angelina and George shoved cake in each other’s faces, laughing hysterically. 

Then came the tossing of the bouquet, which Ginny caught effortlessly. Harry cheered her on as if she had just scored a goal, and the two kissed until Mrs. Weasley made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat. 

“Now, if all the young, single men would gather on the dance floor for the garter toss,” Mrs. Weasley announced, looking specifically at Percy as she did so. 

Percy turned to look at Oliver, who was still standing next to him for some reason. “I’m going out to get a bit of fresh air,” he said. 

He had meant it as a way to excuse himself, not as an invitation for Oliver to join him. But then Oliver said, “Good call,” as was following Percy out of the tent before Percy could protest. 

The two snuck out of the tent, and sat down on the wooden benches that had been set up at the entrance of the tent. The summer night air was warm, with a crisp breeze, and smelled of fresh cut grass. It was so much nicer than the oppressive merriment in the tent. 

There were a few floating lights outside of the tent, mostly lighting the way from the tent to the house for anyone who had to use the bathroom. The light cast sharp shadows on Oliver’s face, on the sides of his nose and under his lips. It made Percy glad he didn’t realize how alarmingly beautiful Oliver was when they were still in school. He would have never been able to study. 

“Your mum really wants to see you married, doesn’t she?” Oliver asked.

He could hear the screams as the men fought to catch the garter, hardly muffled at all. “I think,” Percy replied, “that she’s just a masochist for making sweaters.” 

Oliver’s eyebrows shot up and he held back a laugh. “Percy Weasley, was that a joke?”

Percy bristled. “I’m not entirely without a sense of humor, you know. I make a joke about once a year.”

This was it, this was what it had been like back when they were still at Hogwarts. The two of them bantering, talking like it was as easy as breathing. They would wake up together, fall asleep together, study and eat together. Percy had even been the one to bring Oliver to Madame Pomfrey when he got hit with a Bludger during his first game. And even though Percy had always thought that Oliver liked the twins better than him, Oliver never stopped talking to him. 

And yet it had taken Veela for Percy to realize that he had been, and still was, in love with Oliver Wood. So clearly the only choice had been to never see him again. 

“No,” Oliver agreed. “But I think you might be without any quills or parchment. I haven’t had a letter from you since we graduated.”

Percy kicked the grass with his shoe, feeling more like he was three, and not twenty three. Did they really have to have this conversation now? “I’ve been busy,” was all he said at first, as if _busy_ could also mean abandoning my family to pursue a career in a corrupt government and nearly losing them forever. “I’ve been promoted to the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation,” Percy added, because _that_ he could be proud of. That job was under Minister Shacklebolt, and had his mother’s blessing. His father still wouldn’t talk to him. 

Most people, when Percy brought up work, would simply groan or change the subject or even ask why he was wasting his time with something they perceived as being boring. So Percy had been expecting one of these answers from Oliver. 

What he hadn’t expected was Oliver saying, “Oh yeah? We’ll I’ve finally moved off Puddlemere United’s reserve team. I’ll be starting as their first string Keeper in the next season.”

“That’s wonderful,” Percy said, not sure what else to say but meaning it nonetheless. No one else had ever tried to one-up him before. But then again, no one else’s ambition had ever matched Percy’s. He knew that even back in school. “Is that why you were too busy to write me?” he asked, because it was only fair that he got to ask as well, even if he had been glad that Oliver never had written. 

“No. I didn’t write to you because you were being a prat. You think your brothers didn’t tell me what you were up to?” 

“I’m better now,” Percy muttered, as if it made a difference. As if any sort of apology could make up for what he had done to his family, the way he had pushed away the few people who had cared about him. 

A strong wind blew over them, rustling the flaps of the tent and messing up Percy’s hair. The air smelled like it might rain. 

“You’d better be,” Oliver replied. He gestured back toward the entrance of the tent. “Now come on. Why don’t we go back inside? I never did get a slice of that cake, and I can’t wait to tell your brothers you’ve made a joke.” He smiled at Percy, and as wonderful as it was he didn’t feel worthy of it. 

Percy stood. “I was actually thinking of heading home. I’ve, uh, got quite a lot of work to do.”

Oliver stood as well, an incredulous look on his face. “Work?” he repeated. “On a Friday night? Merlin, Percy, it’s your brother’s wedding. I know you missed the last one, but weddings are actually fun. You’d know that if you ever made an effort to take that stick out of your ass.”

“I do not have a stick--look,” Percy said pushing a hand up under his glasses so he could pinch the bridge of his nose, “I just don’t want to spend the rest of the night having meaningless conversation with you--”

“Meaningless?”

“While my mother tries to set me up with every single witch under forty.”

Oliver waved his hands in the air, as if he could brush away what Percy had just said. “Percy, I don’t care about your issues with your mum. But you were my best mate in school and now we’re finally talking after five years, and you’re calling it meaningless?”

The sky flashed far off, behind the Burrow. Percy wondered if this was a joke too; even the weather seemed to be on Oliver’s side. 

Percy rubbed his eyes with his hands, pushing his glasses up to the top of his head. He groaned. 

“No,” Oliver said, grabbing one of Percy’s wrists and pulling it away from his face. “No, Percy, you do not get to shut this conversation down, not again. Not now.”

That was when the thunder cracked.

Percy readjusted his glasses. “What are you talking about?” he asked, exasperated. “We have never had this conversation before.” And Percy knew every conversation they had ever had. They talked about school and Quidditch and homework and vacation plans, but they’d never talked about them. 

“That’s because you never listened,” Oliver shot back. He had his hands in fists and the expression on his face like when he lost a close match. “I know you were upset when Penelope dumped you,” he went on to say, accent getting stronger like it always did when he was upset, “but I thought that meant that you’d finally realized.”

“What does Penelope have to do with any of this?” 

Oliver threw his hands in the air. “See, you’re impossible! After all of that, and what you ask about is bloody Penelope.”

A few raindrops started to fall. One landed on Percy’s glasses, and he took them off to dry them on his coat. “It’s starting to rain,” he said. “We should go inside.”

“No,” Oliver said again. This time, he grabbed Percy’s shoulders. “Not until we settle this.”

Percy took in a sharp breath. He could feel Oliver’s fingertips through his jacket, the firm pressure holding him place. Oliver had always been stronger than him. Percy was taller, but he had never had any muscles, not like Oliver. He could feel his pulse race. “Settle what, exactly?” Percy asked finally, voice softer than he had expected. 

Oliver didn’t say anything else. 

What he did do was kiss Percy. 

Percy felt like his eyes were going to pop out of his head. He could see the side of Oliver’s face, and could feel Oliver’s lips against his. They were dry, slightly chapped, so much different than Penelope’s had been. She had used a special gloss, she’d told him. But no amount of lip gloss could have made Percy feel like this. 

Oliver pulled back, and the feeling ended. “Percy,” he said, hands still on Percy’s shoulders. There were raindrops running down the side of his face. “Percy,” Oliver repeated, “you’ve got to say something.”

But he couldn’t. Oliver’s face was still inches from his. If he wanted to, Percy could kiss him. Percy Weasley could kiss Oliver Wood like he had imagined doing for seven years. He kept his hands by his side, unsure what to do with them, unsure what to say.

“It’s raining," Percy said. His daydreams had never been this complicated. 

Oliver laughed. He laughed and smiled and kissed Percy again. This time, Percy was ready for it. He kissed Oliver back, reaching up to grab his arms where they still held Percy’s shoulders. He kissed Oliver until he could feel the rain running down the back of his neck.

As much as he didn’t want to, Percy pulled away from Oliver. “Oliver?”

“Mm?” he asked, moving one hand from Percy’s shoulder to cup his face. 

“It’s raining.”

“And?” Oliver asked. He’d tilted his head to kiss Percy’s neck.

And _oh_ that was nice. “It’s _raining_ ,” Percy said for the third time. “And we’re going to get soaked if we stay out here. We should,” he paused, taking in a deep breath as Oliver began to bite at his ear, “we should go inside. We should talk about this.”

That made Oliver pull back. “I’m finally kissing you after wanting to for about ten years, and now you want to talk about it?”

In that moment, Percy knew he had a choice. He had never been good at choices. When it was a choice between his job and his family, he had chosen his job again and again. And now this was a choice of what to do with Oliver, with this information. 

“No, you’re right,” Percy said. “But I do want to go inside.”

Oliver’s face fell. “So you do want cake?” 

Percy kissed Oliver again, quickly, just because he could. “No. Inside,” Percy clarified, looking over to the string of lights illuminating the path from the tent to the Burrow. 

“Oh,” Oliver said, and then, “ _oh_. Percy Weasley,” Oliver drawled, dropping his hands so that he could entwine his fingers with Percy and lead the way down the path. “Are you sure you don’t want me to buy you dinner first?”

He hurried to keep up with Oliver, heart racing. “Do you know how busy I am? If I had to wait for you to buy me dinner I’d be waiting forever.”

Oliver did that laugh again, and Percy tightened his grip on Oliver’s hand. “I’ve already been waiting forever, so we can skip dinner, just this once.”

There was the promise of something else in there, but Percy didn’t have time to figure out what. They were soon at the Burrow, in through the back door, and Oliver had Percy pinned against the wall of the kitchen. Percy’s head hit the wall with a thud and he could just hold on as Oliver assaulted his mouth. 

Oliver shifted his hips and got one leg in between Percy, and Percy couldn’t help but thrust his hips down on Oliver’s thigh. A low moan escaped his mouth in between kisses. Oliver’s hands went down to grip Percy’s hips, holding on to him. It was almost surreal, rutting up against Oliver’s leg in his childhood kitchen. 

“Wait,” Percy said after a moment, gently pushing Oliver away. 

“What?” Oliver asked, looking slightly panicked. “Am I going to fast? Do you--”

“No,” Percy said firmly, and that seemed to calm Oliver down. “But I am not doing this in the kitchen. I grew up here.”

Oliver made a low, almost growl-like noise. He pushed up on the balls of his feet so he could whisper in Percy’s ear, “you grew up everywhere in this house, but I’m going to fuck you somewhere in it. So we can do it here or somewhere else or out in the rain but please, Percy.”

Percy wasn’t even sure what Oliver was asking about, but he nodded anyway. “Upstairs,” he breathed, pressing down once more on Oliver’s leg. “There are beds up there.”

“So you don’t need dinner, but you do need a bed,” Oliver said, as he followed Percy up the winding staircase. 

Percy didn’t dignify that comment with a reply.

They reached the top of the stairs, and Percy pushed open the first door on the left without even thinking about it. It was his old room, the one he used to share with Charlie, and thankfully his parents had left it mostly the same. The charmed lights switched on when the door opened, casting a dull yellow light over the room. There were the same seafoam green curtains, the same two dented bedside tables, and the same two twin sized beds. He heard Oliver shut the door behind them and ask, “so which tiny bed are we using?”

Percy turned around to see Oliver with his suit jacket and tie already off and on the floor, and his shirt buttons half-undone. He felt like he couldn’t breath. “You can’t just do that,” Percy complained, hurrying across the small room back to Oliver. 

“Do you not want me to take my clothes off?” Oliver teased, raising his eyebrows up and down. He chuckled when Percy began to start undoing the rest of the buttons. “Ah, so that’s what you want.”

“You’re what I want,” Percy replied, kissing Oliver to hopefully distract him from the ridiculous thing that he had just said. He splayed his hands out on Oliver’s muscular chest, running his hands up Oliver’s sides and finally pushing his shirt off.

Outside rain crashed against the window. The buzzing sound filled the small room, and the lights flickered. Briefly, Percy wondered when it was the last time they had been used. But the thought of if he should replenish the charm or not left his mind as Oliver’s thick fingers pulled him closer by his tie. Oliver kissed him as he undid the tie, pulling it out of Percy’s collar and dropping it to the floor as well. 

“It’s going to wrinkle,” Percy complained. “It’s silk.”

But Oliver was working on Percy’s buttons, mostly undoing them but tugging off the particularly stubborn ones. “Do I look like I care?” he asked, as the shirt finally came undone. Oliver tugged it out of Percy’s trousers and pushed it off him, letting it fall to the floor with the other garments. 

When his shirt was off, Percy wished that the light charm would just give out now. He was no Oliver Wood. Percy had a very respectable job, but it was a desk job, and he had never really grown out of his gangly, teenage body. His shoulders and back were dusted with dark freckles, and there was a thin trail of red hair leading down from his navel. 

“I know I’m not the best looking,” Percy admitted, unable to stop looking between his chest and Oliver’s. 

Oliver grabbed Percy’s belt loops and pulled him closer, kissing him again. “You say one more thing like that, and I’m going to gag you with that stupid silk tie.”

“Next time,” Percy said, without even thinking about it as he started to undo Oliver’s belt. 

Now it was Oliver who moaned. “Damn, Percy, I never thought you’d be like this.”

Percy wanted to ask what Oliver meant, but Olive was now standing here in nothing but his pants and honestly, Percy didn’t _care_. 

“Do you want your glasses off?” Oliver asked, raising a hand to rest it on the side of Percy’s face, over the edge of his horn rimmed glasses. 

“No. I want to be able to see you.” Percy hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to feel Oliver through his pants, stroking him gently through the cotton fabric. 

“Bed,” Oliver said, voice tight. He maneuvered the two of them over to one of the twin beds, and when they hit the mattress, the whole bed seemed to groan. 

“It’s fine,” Percy said, as the thunder sounded again. “It always does that.” The answer seemed good enough for Oliver, who had set to work undoing Percy’s belt and trousers. Oliver held the belt for a moment, as if considering it, before tossing it off the bed with the rest of the clothes, until they were both just in their pants. 

Oliver looked down at Percy, who was breathing heavily and sure he was blushing more than he ever had in his life. He put his hands back on Percy’s shoulders, almost where they had been earlier in the evening. It felt like a lifetime away, but the pressure was the same, and the feelings of Oliver’s callused fingers on his skin were even better than before.

“Are you sure you want this?” Oliver asked. 

“For so long,” Percy replied. He wrinkled up his nose when he realized that it didn’t quite make sense. 

But if Oliver noticed, he didn’t care. Instead, he focused on dragging his fingers maddeningly slowly down Percy’s chest, stopping at the edge of his pants. He hooked his fingers until the waistband of Percy’s pants and pulled them down just as slow, even helping Percy maneuver his long, gangly legs out of them. When they were finally off, Oliver let out a low whistle. 

“Merlin, you should warn a guy,” he said, looking down at Percy’s dick. 

That made Percy feel a little better. He didn’t have much going for him, but this area of his anatomy was more than passable. His cock was not particularly thick, but longer than average. He had always thought that, if nothing else, his cock would make up for the rest of him. 

“Beautiful,” Oliver breathed. He looked around the room before looking back at Percy. “I don’t suppose there’s any lube in here?”

“My mother keeps lubricant in all the guest rooms.”

“Percy,” Oliver whined, “please do not mention your mum right now, yeah? Could have just said no.” He smiled. “I’m not sure I like you when you make jokes. Joke,” Oliver added quickly, as Percy started to frown at the thought of Oliver not liking him. He moved up Percy’s body to kiss him again. “I like everything about you.”

“Even though I don’t like Quidditch?”

Oliver kissed Percy again. “Do you want me to suck you off, or do you want to talk about Quidditch?”

“We can talk about it later,” Percy said hurriedly. He heard Oliver mutter something that sounded like _that’s what I thought_ , but he couldn’t be sure, because the next moment Oliver was back down his body and had his mouth around the tip of Percy’s cock. Percy scrambled to find purchase on the floral blanket, unable to help the way his hips canted up. He’d done this before, of course, but not in years, and not with anyone like Oliver. 

From the way Oliver worked his cock in his mouth, it clearly wasn’t Oliver’s first time either. But Percy didn’t care. He watched as Oliver bobbed up and down, until his tongue did something particularly spectacular and Percy fell back, moaning, head hitting the pillow. 

Oliver pulled his mouth off Percy’s cock just enough to ask, “are you loud?” And when Percy didn’t answer, Oliver continued. “Please be loud. There’s no one here and I want to hear you.”

And how could Percy refuse a request like that? He kept his hands on the blanket and didn’t try to stifle the noises coming out of his mouth, staccato moans deeper than he thought his voice could go. “Oli-Oliver,” Percy moaned, trying to warn him but failing before he was coming, back arched up off the bed and forgetting to breath. 

Oliver kept his mouth on Percy’s cock until his orgasm passed. A thin line of come trickled out of his mouth, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. It was the sexiest thing that Percy had ever seen, and he had to kiss him for it. Percy grabbed Oliver by the shoulder and pulled him back up so he could kiss him, deep and dirty, tasting himself on Oliver’s tongue. 

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t hoping you’d return the favor,” Oliver said, nuzzling his head into the place where Percy’s neck met his shoulders. 

“I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it,” Percy replied, and it was worth it just to hear the noise that came from Oliver when he said it. He considered the logistics of it, of where they would need to move and the size of the bed. There was really only one way to do it without the possibility of injuring either of them. He shrugged his shoulders so that Oliver pulled his head up, and said, “move up,” as he tugged at Oliver’s hips. 

Oliver seemed to take a moment before he registered. farther up the bed, bracing himself on his hands and knees so that Percy could move down the bed, under Oliver. His legs were well off the bed, feet flat on the ground and the edge of the bed right under Percy’s knees. It wasn’t exactly the perfect position, but Oliver’s crotch was right in front of his face, and that was what Percy cared about. With less grace than Oliver had done it with, Percy pulled down Oliver’s pants. Oliver’s cock was thicker than Percy’s but a little shorter, but Percy didn’t spend too much time looking at it before leaning his head back and taking the tip in his mouth. 

Percy worked the head in his mouth, running his tongue over it as he heard Oliver’s breathing quicken. He put his hands on the back of Oliver’s thighs, steadying himself as he relaxed his throat and took more of Oliver in his mouth. And everything about this was so much better than the few, fumbling times that Percy had done it. The smell, the taste, the way Oliver seemed incapable of moaning anything but his name. 

He could feel Oliver’s hips start to shudder, as if he was doing his best not to start thrusting. Percy moved one hand up from Oliver’s thigh to his hip, gently putting pressure on it and trying to get his point across without having to take his mouth away from Oliver’s cock. 

“Bloody hell, Percy,” Oliver swore, before Percy felt him thrust his hips in earnest for the first time. 

All Percy could do was moan around Oliver’s cock and hold on as Oliver kept thrusting, fucking his mouth. Percy closed his eyes to better focus on his breathing, on not gagging. Oliver’s thrusts became more erratic, his moans of Percy’s name breaking down to monosyllabic groans, and then with a final thrust he was coming down Percy’s throat. 

That Percy did gag on, but it was so far down his throat that he hardly tasted it. He pushed against Oliver’s hip, moving his hips far enough away so that Percy could take his mouth off of Oliver’s cock. 

Oliver flopped over on his side, pants still around his knees. “I think you’ve killed me,” Oliver complained, eyes closed. 

Percy sat up on the bed, looking down at Oliver. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do now. During every other encounter he had had like this, this was the part where he usually left. 

“Come here, you,” Oliver said, reaching out to grab Percy by the arm and tugging him back down to the bed. He pulled Percy so that Percy’s back was against his chest, and then threw an arm over him. Oliver pressed soft kisses to the back of Percy’s neck. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

Percy tried to focus on the pattern of the flower blanket on the other bed. Now that it was over, the strangeness of what had just happened was like ice in his blood. He had just had sex with Oliver Wood in his childhood bedroom. And now Oliver was holding him, like he liked him, like they did this all the time. 

“What...what happens now?” he asked, dreading the answer. 

Oliver made a soft, humming noise. “We lay here for a while, get dressed, and go back down and finally get some cake.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Percy rolled over so that he could look at Oliver, with one arm tucked under his head so that his glasses could still be on fairly straight. Oliver’s face still looked flushed, and this close Percy could see flecks of gold in Oliver’s brown eyes. 

“I know,” Oliver said. He stroked his hand up and down Percy’s side slowly. “I know. We could start by seeing each other again. Maybe with more talking the next time?” 

“I’m very busy.”

“I know that, too. But so am I. So maybe we should just start with the cake.” 

Oliver smiled at Percy, and Percy couldn’t help but smile back. “I do like cake.” Because it wasn’t much, but it was something. And even if all Percy ever had was this moment and the taste of wedding cake, it was better than nothing at all.


End file.
